Get dressed! GerIta
by TheCrowMaiden
Summary: One-shot cuteness with Ludwig and Feliciano. Written for my sister.


Feliciano was having a nice dream. It was one of the usual ones, filled with wine and pasta and games. It was even summer, and he was at the beach, enjoying all his favourite things while basking in the heat of the sun. As he refilled his glass, a cloud passes over the sky, and it got drastically cooler. With a shiver, he reached for his jacket, but it was no where to be found.

Whimpering, he had just decided that the dream couldn't get any worse, when a wave surged over the rocks and drenched him.

"VAKE UP!"

With a squeak, he shot upright in bed and covered his head with his arms to protect himself from whoever was yelling at him.

"Ahhh! I'm sorry! I surrender, don't hurt me!"

Ludwig stood over the cowering Feliciano, scowling as he hoisted the now-partly-empty water jug.

"Get out of bed before I dump the rest of this over you. You are fifteen minutes late for vaking up!"

Plunking the jug down irritably, the blond man stalked over to Feliciano's closet and began yanking out clothing. Muttering under his breath about the lack of selection, Ludwig eventually gathered an armful of garments that were to his liking.

"I am going to iron these so they are presentable. I expect you to be clean and alert and ready to put them on when I return!"

Sniffling, Feliciano flinched when the door slammed. Ludwig was always so grumpy in the morning. What did fifteen extra minutes matter anyway? Especially on a holiday! But he knew better than to test his friend's patience, so he got up and shuffled to the washroom, wondering what the chances were of getting pasta for breakfast, and if he could at least convince Ludwig to let him have some pastries.

Letting the hot water relax him, Feliciano stood in the shower for far longer than necessary. Mornings were terrible. The world would be a better place without them. Sighing happily, he turned the hot water on higher. After all, Ludwig couldn't iron _that_ qui-

"VARGAS! I'm coming up the stairs!"

The German kicked the door open, his arms filled with neatly folded clothes, as well as a jacket on a hanger. His scowl deepened to a grimace when he saw that the young, auburn-haired man had neglected to dry himself off, and was cheerfully dripping water everywhere, soaking even his undershirt.

After a five minute fight that involved Feliciano wailing he could do it himself and squirming, Ludwig managed to get him properly dried. Picking the freshly pressed clothing up off the dresser, he dumped them into Feliciano's arms.

"Ten minutes. If you're not dressed I will do it for you, _ja_?"

The Italian nodded vigorously, and shot into the washroom. He knew that Ludwig was taking care of him, but did he have to be so _rough_? His scalp _still_ tingled from the hair brushing he'd been subjected to. And it was just going to get messy anyway; he never slicked it into place with gel like Ludwig did. Pouting, Feliciano did up the buttons on the white dress shirt (except the top two), and left the blue suit jacket on the hanger. Belatedly, he put the tie on loosely, thinking that Ludwig couldn't _possibly_ complain now.

He was wrong.

With a great deal of tugging, yanking, and German curse words, Ludwig got Feliciano properly attired. Taking a step back, he eyed him critically. He looked the best he could, all things considered. The hair was woefully mussed as usual, but the last time he'd tried to tame it, Feliciano had actually _cried_. And if there was one thing Ludwig couldn't handle, it was tears. Well, tears from Feliciano anyway. With a quick glance in the mirror he checked his own appearance, making sure his tussle with the Italian hadn't affected his own clothes or hair.

Finally satisfied that they _both_ looked their best, Ludwig checked his watch.

Five minutes after two. Ten minutes late.

"Dammit."

Sitting in the back of a cab, Feliciano gave into the urge to snuggle into Ludwig. He still wasn't sure where they were going, and he was tired. Not only that, but he loved how his friend smelled. Like clean laundry, with just a hint of gunpowder. (But even as he cuddled into the other man, he was careful to not mess either of their suits).

Ludwig blushed, and gently pushed him off after a minute.

"V-Ve're here Feliciano."

"Oh, we are? Where are we? Ne, ne, Ludwig, where?"

"Get out and see."

Feliciano scrambled out of the car, eager to see where they were, and why Ludwig was being so secretive about it. And when he read the sign, his jaw dropped open.

He hadn't known that a five-star restaurant that specialized in pasta even _existed_.

Smiling, a blush still colouring his cheeks, the blond German put his hand on the Italian's shoulder. He didn't have to say anything, he knew that Feliciano understood. And Feliciano did. But that didn't stop him from glomping Ludwig, smothering him in hugs and kisses.

Disentangling the still-ecstatic Feliciano proved more difficult than expected, and by the time Ludwig managed to get him to go inside, both their outfits were depressingly wrinkled.

He sighed heavily. And after all the effort he put into ironing that suit to boot! A cool draft at his throat prompted him to re-button his collar, only to find out that…

"Ach! Feliciano! Give me back my iron cross!"

"Vee, you have to come and get it Ludwiiiiiig~"

"_**VARGAS**_!"

"Ahhhhh, I surrender, I surrender!"


End file.
